Bravo.

When the rattan ball hit the ground on our side of the court for the last time, i saw CK fall to the ground. He was on his back, and the left hand that covered his face could not hide the tears that streaked down uncontrollably. his right fist violently thumping the ground, echoing anguish and shock of defeat with every impact.

I saw it then: pain. as i stood there haplessly with 1.5 l bottles in both hands, i saw pain etched across the faces of the twenty or so men in orange-n-black tee shirts. pain of defeat, pain of losing the defending champions crown. i was pain, sadness reflected across their moist eyes, their trembling lips. i could not hear the cheering of TH supporters. i only heard the sadness in all shearites’ hearts.

joel, who had all along maintained a cool and calm demeanour, broke down at the very end, sobbing into DL’s shoulder. the memory of him clutching dl’S shirt, his face contorted in silent anguish, tears streaming down his face, is one that will stay with me for a very long time. I felt his pain then. It was so close, so real. It tore at our heartstrings.

The sight of CK sitting on the ground with his face in his propped up knees, quietly raging, crying was the absolute personification of anguish. i felt his pain too. It was so close, so real. It tore at our heartstrings.

And finally,as the entire team formed one line and bowed low to all of us present, one could not help but feel for them, for everything they’ve put in thus far, for their hard work n effort. for their fortitude n for their spirit.

But even i, standing on the sidelines with my fellow SWOCs and supporters, found no words of encouragement for them, for we knew that such words of comfort could not and would not change what had already been cast in stone. But even in the solemn quietness of it all, we knew their story, we shared their sorrow, we understood their pain. we even shed tears along with them too. some might call this empathy. others might call it camaraderie.

but i call it kinship.

I Never Thought I’d Say this, but BBALL SUCKS.

Srry folks. this is gonna be another emo post.  Gotta get this off my chest before i get insomnia-induced illnesses again. As before, those who arent interested in reading other pple’s emo posts (cos u got either too much emoness or sunshine in your life), feel free to stop reading. =)

*********************************

Came back today after another uneventful bball training session. As the days go by, i cant help but wonder to myself, what the hell am i doing in SH bball when i am neither needed nor wanted? i mean seriously. i joined bball in SH to have fun, cos i like bball, cos i believe myself to be an above average player who can contribute to the team. Such was my fantasy when i first applied to SH team. That i believed i could be a significant part of the team.

and look where that goddam fantasy has taken me. nowhere. 12 players will be chosen for each of the games before the semis. it’s not the same 12 players for all 3 games, but rather a 18 choose 12 thing. Say for example, if we’re playing a team of short and fast pple, we cant have Santa in that squad of 12 that we will be sending. No offense Santa. So it’s kinda like ‘pick the best 12 for the current situation’. And that means 3 fixed lists of 36 names to b submitted to the convening hall IHG committee.

And i happen to be one of those pple, ok probably one of the three pple who will NEVER NEVER NEVER FUCKING HELL NEVER be chosen to play in ANY of the 3 games. And i am not joking. such is the cause of my emoness. I mean, how can i even hope to make it into any of the 3 lists of 12 each?

What the hell was i even thinking, man. i should have known this right from the start. that i am not good enough, i dont have enough experience to play at the competitive full-court level. it shows in the way i handle the ball, the way i run plays, the way i pass, the way i shoot, basically the way i do anything and everything.

and what were they thinking, letting me in after trials when pple like jiangyan or yanhuan didnt get in? was it pity? was it cos someone pulled strings? cos i know i definitely blew the trials. i was emoing so much abt not being able to get in the team cos i sucked too much (i cant even do a proper right hand layup, i cant dribble properly, i cant defend properly i cant do a proper screen i cant box out properly and the fucking list goes on and on and on and on….), that i wasnt even paying attention to the games. so how the hell did i get into the team?

and why am i in such anguish after i got into the team? i was never meant to pass the trials, i was never mean to bite off more than i could chew, i was never ready to play at this level yet. why pick me if u knew i couldnt make it in the end? I could have have more fun joining floorball or soccer.

“aiya but this kind of thing, can improve one la.” how much can one improve, anyway? more importantly, how much can one improve over the course of 2 trainings a week for 3 months? for slow learners like me, the answer is fairly obvious. i cant. the most i can do now is a half-fucked right handed lay up. man, i cant even do a left handed one properly.

And i dun need sympathy from people. i hate sympathy. i hate it when i’m at the sidelines doing nothing but watch my fellow SHEARITES play ball with other pple, run drills, have fun while i just look sad. I hate it when my forlorn look invites sympathy from the captain or Darren or anybody.

“eh, sub lymon in for this offensive drill. if not he stand there very long le.’ this is probably what goes thru their minds when they ask me to sub for anybody. (and what do i do? i cock up plays, i look blur and stoned etc.)

when it truly comes down to it, i am just not needed in this team. there are so many better players out there in the team that YQ and Josh can consider before even taking a glance at me. heck, i bet i rank last in their choice of players, along w Nakok, who cant play cos he’s out w a knee injury. imagine that. putting my importance right alongside an injured guy. great.

And my emoness isnt unfounded, isnt based on my own overthinking, overemoing of stuff. i mean look at the team now pple. we have the captain and vice captain who will definitely be in the 3 lists. darren will definitely have to play all 3 games too. theres kaiwen, zhibin, jingwei, LiJing, Andee Hong, Yeowlin, Lik, who will most definitely be on all three lists as well. not to mention the absentees who are of more value than me: jason, xianghao, benny, or the newbie tiongs who can play better than me.

or the new bizad guy whom we roped into SH to play for us cos he’s such a good post player. i’m not jealous of him, i want whats best for bball team at IHG, and that means, ouch Lymonade, bumped one more spot down the list of potential IHG players. sigh

where do i stand? nowhere at all. i am totally not needed in this team. i dont want to get called to sub in during a drill just cos i have nothing to do. i dont want to be called in to fill a gap. and hell no i dont want to be called into a match just so i dont warm the bench for 60 minutes.

another thing i hate: being insignificant. some pple are fine with just being there, laughing along with the rest of them, but content with doing wat they do and keep an equilibirum, a status quo. it doesnt matter to them if they are just part of something bigger, but never contributing anything important to that bigger thing. Kinda like an appendix, or a small toe, or leg hair. u get wat i mean la.

but not me. i hate feeling like it doesnt matter if i am there or not. i will not be content to the role of ‘filling numbers’. i wan to make a difference, to anything and everything i do and take part in. i guess thats my own twisted way of living, but i cannot see it any other way. i suppose thats one of the reasons why i joined SWOC. i wanted to make a difference. i wanted to truly say i had a part in SH history, that i was an important, an integral part to the success of SH’s biggest annual freshman camp. something like that.

But this, this bball thing, isnt wat i wanted. it’s a far cry from what I wanted. I remember a time when bball was so fun, the hours just ticked away like nobody’s business, and no one wanted it to end. even when training in SRJC, bball was still fun. what happened to all that fun?

i wake up at 7, drag my heavy feet to the bball court, and curse along the way. every hour, i run to my bag to check the time, praying that the time would just pass. praying that the day’s training will end soon. but alas, it never is that easy. 20 min, 30 min, time sloooowly creeps to 12, and just when u thought, hey its 12, some buggers teaches us a new play and wants to get us started on it. and the whole thing drags to 1pm.

and the best thing is that, everyone is ok with it. everyone else is happy, or excited that we are gonna learn a new play. or mayb their sianness doesn’t show on their faces. but not me. i am totally not interested. why? why wont i b interested in learning a new offensive play? erm, cos i wont be the one running the play at IHG at the end of the day?

YeaH. SO Whats the point of learning something i’ll never use. there simply isnt. and what am i doing wasting my tuesdays, thursdays and saturdays doing this crap? heck i dont even enjoy it. i’m half as tired as everyone else. and why is that so? cos i spend half the time looking forlornly from the sidelines. looking on so pitifully but knowing that even if i get to play, i’ll never contribute.

admit it: 有我没有我,根本就没有分别.

the worst thing that can possibly happen to me is to be drafted into the list of 12 players, not cos i’m important, not cos i’m needed, but cos ‘aiya he damn poor thing come for all training but never get to play anything. just put him in, let him have fun for the last 5 minutes after we start leading like hell.’

thats the worst: pity. sympathy.

one might argue, hey if u can do the play well, theres no reason the capt wont pick u. cos bball is not so much individual skill, more teamwork.

true. but who the hell is gonns trust me to run a play when u have 14 other players who are faster, more able, more skilled? i’m not as skilled as any of them, i only have pride in my attacking instinct.

and where has that gone? i wonder. could it be becos i’m surrounded by better players? such that i start to develop an inferiority complex? i mean come on, it’s precisely cos bball’s a team game that i don’t want to take the shot myself, don’t want to make decisions myself. i pass the ball quickly to others cos i know they’ll definitely handle the ball better. who would u trust to handle a play? me or kaiwen? i treat the fellow who says ‘me’ to nasi lemak. bwahaha.

so ya. its abt confidence too. how can i be confident of my own abilities on the court, when i know for sure that there are 4 others who are better than me? face it, i haven done anything noteworthy at all since i joined this team, nothing that makes pple’s eyes pop and think ‘ wa that lymon, not bad ah.’ nope. nada. zero. squat.

and to quote andee hong, unless u really improve dramatically, there’s no way u can be on the team. and that is the truth. i don’t blame anyone but myself.

tentative. thats the word used to describe me on the court. exactly. thanks darren. no dont get me wrong, i’m not scolding him for making me zibei or whatever. he’s right, i am tentative. and why is that so? cos every time i take the ball, my first thought is not to attack, but to pass to any better player so he can make use of it to his advantage. i mean same logic, u would rather trust darren with the ball than me right. i feel the exact same way.

that results in what. me pausing, stoning not daring to dribble, shoot, even when i’m damn open. why? cos i feel that the ball has a better chance of going into the basket when its in joshua’s hands than in mine, no matter how open i am. that makes me tentative.

but ask around. ask ht or seow or vin or thomas or boo or ben or khwa or kluon or anyone who has played ball with me before. i’m known for my daring attacks at the basket that sometimes borders on recklessness, i’m known for wanting to be so involved in the play that i’ll hold the ball/dribble for a much longer period of time than i am supposed to. and i enjoy every minute of it. playing with pple who recognise my abilities, are confident enough to let me handle the plays. i like to play an important part.

but what happens when i get into SH team? my ego, my self-confidence, gets swallowed up. and this isn’t something that one can recover from in an  instant. now even i don’t believe i can make a shot, any shot. i’d rather pass to someone else whom i think can make the shot better than me.

isnt that just a sad way of playing basketball?

random thoughts about uni life

It’s been far too long since i last updated with anything significant and un-emo. think  nobody even bothers to come here anymore! heck, no one is SH knows i keep a blog like this! =S oh well, it’s not all bad. i can talk bad abt people i dont like and they’ll never find out abt it! BWAHAHAHA. eh, joke la, joke la. i cannot underestimate the power of the internet. or rather i cannot underestimate the power of pple who might bo-liaoly google anything random and chance upon my blog. sheesh. (plus, i love everyone in SH~! woot!) erm. hmm.

oh well, part of the reason why i’ve been gone so long – school. Semester one ended a week ago on an absolute low- IT1005 final term exams. Can u imagine my kimochi when i was doing the paper? there were alot of “what the fuck”s and “huh? how i know”s and “wa knnbccb”s going thru my head as i attempted the paper. or should i say, attempted to attempt the paper. oh yeah, there were alot of ‘oh my god’s too. sigh. i have a very good feeling i’m gonna chui my first sem. oh well. not like anyone would care.

i suppose that’s the biggest difference between university education and everything else. no one really cares how well u do.  which makes sense actually. why would anyone else care wat my CAP is? why would anyone care if someone they know is doing really bad in school? they simply wouldnt. well, maybe they would care, superficially, just so that they would have something to bitch/ laugh about.

eg of ‘bitch about’: “wa u know that Lymonade ah, 他妈的 dam imbal la his maths. how he study one. really wtf man” (which is totally not true by the way. i think i’ll kinda get C+ for MA1505 final terms. i genuinely believe it. but thats actually as good as failing, isnt it. sigh)

eg of ‘laugh about’: ‘wa u know that Lymonade ah, 他妈的 damn chui his maths. dunno how he sutdy one. heng ah. lucky got pple more chui than me.’ (ok  thats not true either. my maths isnt THAT chui. i hope.)

i still rmb WL telling me ‘你 CAP chui, 没有人会可怜你的.’ This was probably the singlemost important revelation of the year. not that i didnt know this before. i believed it in my mind. but the way he said it, with such blatant obviousness (is there even such a word), bluntness, it felt like that was the greatest truth of all. hmm. weird.

thats the true difference between them N’ US. INDIFFERENCE. remember a time when teachers (we still call them tat at 17 yrs old =D) got so worked up and concerned if u werent doing well in ur studies? remember a time when frens, teachers were genuinely worried about a student’s educational well being? remember a time when teachers actually gave their all to make sure u really understood what it was they were teaching? (and if u didnt, they would make sure u did.) remember a time when teachers would actually pay attention to and help the weakest students in class?

Where did all that go to? now, LECTURERS n TUTORS dont give a damn whether u actually understand what it is they’re trying to say. u’re supposed to be smart enough to get the content, or decipher their FUCK accents etc. Ok not all la, SKhan, SHong are exceptions. my sch can do with more pple like them. and axe the freakin’ TIONGS. ( u dare to come and teach in an english medium sch when u cant even speak it properly. some prof u are, man.)

i mean, i know its all abt independent learning and all that, but how the hell we gonna do that if we dont understand wat the fellow’s trying to say? we would only waste time trying to figure it out on our own when we could be spending that time more productively.

oh my. angsty are we. i suppose that has got to do with my impending doom come 22 dec. heck, i dont even know if it is possible to secure even an A for GnS anymore. pui. But to be fair, i cant put all the blame on the educators and the education system. alot of it has got to do with me, and how i manage my time, my life etc.

But of course, no one likes to read abt someone bitch abt himself. i mean, how lame is that. wont it be more fun to kp anything and everything else? =)

u know how pple wish they had more than 24 hrs a day? i never wished for it so badly. until i came here. no matter how much time i had, it never seemed to suffice. no matter how much sleeping time i had, i always woke up the next day feeling worse than ever. no matter how much time i had to prepare for an exam, it was NEVER enough. sigh. is that due to some malfunction in my time-management? dunno. =S

0h my, my english has really really gone to the dogs. grammar mistakes everywhere in this entry. but oh well. i dont really have the time to bitch abt my level of written literature, or to do anything about it. i’ve seen worse. both written and spoken english. so i think i’m still fine. =)

oh man. tired already. first week into the actual 5 weeks term break. and i have bball training every tues, thurs, sat. sucks balls man. when did bball become such a chore. sigh. will be back to bitch abt life tmr or something. =)

Super Emo

Lymon is a bad loser.

Somehow i was under the delusion that i did a great job out there, considering the condition of my throat. but how many times have i given that excuse? erm sore throat. erm dry throat. my best frens.

I did my best. Regrets? yeah. that i wasnt able to get everyone to share my opinion.

Maybe i am deluded. maybe my singing prowess just isnt up to standard. Maybe i’ve always been overestimating myself.

this is one of those instances whereby ‘not bad’ translates to ‘not good.’ cos if it’s good, people will just say that well, it’s good.

I hate my fucking throat.

how long has it been? 4 months odd? since end of june? when will i be able to sing anything i want and have people unanimously tell me that i did great? when will i stop hearing ‘not bad la’ when i have already put my best foot forward and tried to make the best out of it?

mayb i am just half-fucked after all. half-fucked sportsman. half-fucked guitarist. half-fucked singer. half-fucked student. half-fucked everything. fucking jack of all trades, master of none.

really. i will give anything in the world to get my normal singing voice back. god help me. i just want to be able to sing and know that i sing well. please.

i can do better than this. i just need my singing voice back. please.

SUNDOWN!

I almost forgot i had a blog. Man. i’m getting lazy to update people with snippets of my life. Either that or i’ve got no life worth putting down with words. So i’m here today because i’ve got something interesting about my life to share! Finally! =) After months and months of slacking around doing squat, i finally have something which even I think is blog-worthy.

I took part in the Adidas Sundown marathon!! woot!! But hey, this entry wont really be a “hao lian” entry, i hope. I’ll just talk about things like cause and effect, action and consequence etc. Philosophical stuff. Try and keep up. =)

Alright where should i begin? from the very top i guess. Why i signed up for this in the first place. It was in january this year i think. i was lounging around the office, still a bored NSF, surfing blogs and reading about the latest terrorist attack, political strife in some Asian countries *ahem etc in some forums YAWN.

That was when i discovered that ADIDAS was holding a marathon! the second-ever mass night racing event, and the only one in ASIA! and the first thing that came to mind was “COOL! adidas is my favourite brand!”

I know. No link one. but adidas is seriously my favourite brand. The simple yet intricate 3 stripes trademark on every single piece of its gear is just so revolutionary isnt it? In a world where advertising and branding involves words (Long John Silvers), letters (M), acronyms (KFC),  and pictures (cant think of one at the moment), the 3 stripes stand out the most!(alongside the tick la. ) simple yet effective advertising. The 3 stripes is so recognised throughout the world that anyone would know what three stripes represents on any piece of sporting equipment or apparel.

not to mention that i think 3 stripes has much better quality products that can really withstand wear and tear. Compared to the tick. *ahem

oh wait, i sidetracked. Damn. well at least i had a platform to rant abt my deep love for adidas products. whatever. back to my story. so the next thing that came to m ind was “hey i wanna do something fun and exciting after i ORD! Something i’ve never done before in my entire life! maybe i should go run a marathon!” the next thing i thought was ” cool! i have never seen a night marathon before!” And i decided there and then:

YES, I SHALL TAKE PART IN ADIDAS SUNDOWN 2009! so i walked to my master sergeant’s desk and asked if he had a credit card with which i could apply for the event. Incidentally he was taking part in the run too! yeah he’s got quite a few marathon finisher tees in his wardrobe. i think. sundown, standard chartered. new balance etc.

so i applied. much later i found out that the organisers of the sundown had given in to a group of petitioners from i dunno where, to include a finisher’s tee for those who completed the run. whew. i mean, what kind of marathon would it be if the finisher cant flaunt his “finisher of 42 km marathon” t-shirt? sheesh.

so there i was, feeling rather good about myself. so i devised a simple, vague training plan to get myself ready to Race the Night™. Sadly, my body seemed to reject my attempts to clock the kilometres. Everytime i ran, i fell sick shortly after. Cold, flu, fever, sore throat. Must be the wind whipping against my sweat-soaked skin. sigh.

So my training schedule was screwed up. i didnt even manage to complete my training. I stopped at 15 km, which i am not even sure was accurate, given the fact that i used google maps distance calculator to agar-agar.

so i started to panick a little. i mean, what kind of suicidal person would go into a marathon for the first time without first having ample preparation and training?

Then i found out that K Luon was also taking part in the marathon, with some of his cell group members.  i’ll get to that part later. And K L, if you’re reading this: U OWE ME BIG TIME DUDE. Lol relax, kidding. =P

so the day night came, 30 may 2009. i wasnt prepared at all. i almost believed that i would die in the middle of it, but my male ego would not let me fall out halfway. i wanted to save some face too lah. So i was determined, kinda, to complete the run even if it took me 8,9, 10 hrs.

i have to say, the running routes are kinda screwed up. i mean, who the hell runs on overhead bridges during a marathon! and we had to run across 4 of them, although three of them had gradual slopes up and down the bridge, instead of stairs, which is still totally not the point.

the running routes were damn narrow. we were running on pavement, designed for maybe two person’s width. I had to weave around the walking people, the slower people and that agitated me alot.alot of times, i had to run on the grass patched that separated the main road from the pavement. Sheesh. i ws worried that Lymonade “Sprain” Sim would get a massive ankle twisting from all the dang potholes in the grass.

so me and kl and his cell grp frens started running together. it took us almost 5 mins to get past the starting point cos of the sheer number of participants packed like tuna/sardines in front of us. We started off running really slowly cos the lot of us were bunched up together, and there was hardly any room for overtaking.  and because of this massive amt of people packed together, it was hot beyond hot. humid beyond el nino.  i sweated more in the first 3 km than i did for the entire race. and i am not kidding.

so we moved at a leisurely pace for abt 3 km. until kl started to pick up speed.he told me that he saw three old guys who were damn zai at running overtake us, and that we should follow them. so we did. at a tremendous speed. we followed them from the 3 km mark to abt 13 km, where there was a water point. we overheardone of the old men telling his buddies “hey its only an hour 15 min. at this rate, we can do this in 5.”

i wowed at our pace. but i was also beginning to wear out. why? cos we were nearing the 15 km mark, the furthest i have ever ran in 1 attempt. so we ran for a while more, while trying desperately to keep up. den i told kl, “cannot. cannot. must walk” so we walked. and lost the 3 old men.damn.

After some encouragement from kl, we took off again, slowly. den some where along the 16 km mark, kl developed a cramp in his left knee. so we stopped and rested while he tended to his cramp. 5 to 10 min later, we were up and running. 5 to 10 min after that, he went down again w the same recurring cramp. i was partially thankful for that cos it gave me time to rest and recover. my own stress-fracture ankle was killing me. i was worried that my right knee would give way soon, due to it compensating for my weak ankle.

i was right about that. but we’ll get to that later. so throughout the course of the run, until the 28 km mark, KL cramped, we stopped, he rested, he applied some deep heat lotion, we took off walking, den started running. this cycle repeated itself from East Coast park to East Coast Lagoon, to Bedok Jetty, to Big Splash, to kembangan mrt, through siglap park connector finally to bedok reservoir.

oh ya i forgot to mention, at the start of the siglap park connecter, which was around the 25 km mark, some big guy collapsed. fell face first into the tarmac. Didnt move. some guys went to help him up. His eyes were wide open, but he was limp. didnt look like he was breathing. hmm. (later i saw the same guy at the resuscitation pen at the holding area, with medic and security guys tending to him. Even his legs were awfully pale. and he was in shock, jerking here and there at his extremities. Poor dude.)

so i told kl “nothing we can do here” and continued running.

Afterward  kl collapsed, for his 20th time LOLOL, at a very strategic point. As he sat there, near the 28 km mark, a team of medical experts came to tend to him. LOL. they offered him a pack of ice to nurse his cramp. we later referred to the pack of ice as the “elixer” cos it was god damn effective for his cramp.

After some serious icing, KL was like some dead guy brought back to life. Or rather, some amputee who had miraculously regrown his leg. and so he chionged his way through the walking, jogging, strolling stumbling crowd. and who was i to spoil his fun? i joined in, having had ample rest during all the times he went down. So we powered our way, weaving through the crowd, stopping only at water points, but only for water and stuff.

We made good time. We started from the 28 km mark, and kept running till the 35 km mark, before the ice slowly lost its healing effect. my knees and ankles were starting to feel the immense strain from all the running.

so we agreed to take it slow, walk and run a little, until the 38 km mark, before we each took off at our own pace.

So we reached the 3rd last water point, and after that kl sprinted off like some mad dude. i tried to follow, but realised that there was this pain in my right kneecap. i postulated that it was the compensation for my weak ankle earlier on that resulted in this injury. This rendered running near impossible, so i had to walk. Damn. if i wanted to run, i would have to hobble, putting most of my weight on my left knee. which i did in the end.

so i walked, and walked, and walked. and overtook some other walkers. even overtook a few joggers. Man. But even briskwalking was slowly taking its toll on the soles of my feet and my calves. Not to mention that there was so much lactic acid built up in my thighs i could have sold them for 10 bucks per litre. cos i’m very sure i had a litre in those aching muscles.

So whenever i could, i hobbled. But hobbling made my breathing uneven, and i developed a stitch at the 40 km mark. shit.

well, the last 2 km was really the worst part of the race. i had enough in me to run, but my legs just werent able to support all that impact any longer. it was very demoralising to see pple just chiong past me towards the ending, and knowing that i should have been one of those running happily towards the finish line, and knowing that i couldn’t. so it was a very arduous 2 km. that seemed almost like 3 or 4 km. maybe it was my walking. but the race never seemed to end. i kept walking, ocassionally hobbling, but i never saw the end. and i knew that i could not keep this up much longer. Man the pain was so intense i felt that i would black out anytime. felt a little queasy.

i finally saw the word “finish” just before the sun came up. the sky was still 630 am kinda blue. Somewhere along the run, i told myself to complete the run before the sun came out, so that the marathon would stay true to its title, and not become a “SUNRISE” marathon.  so i hobbled, hobbled on one good leg to the end of my 42 km journey. i looked up at the clock above the word. about 6 hrs 45 min. give or take. i smiled,  despite the growing discomfort in both legs. every single muscle, tendon, ligament in every part. And by the word “discomfort”, i meant ” fucking-hell-excruciating-wanna-die-or-just-cut-my-legs-off” kinda pain. Not a good feeling

so i dily dallied there for quite a while, resting my poor legs, lying on the soil, watching rest of the pple come in. uncles and aunties, people who looked like they work in an office, NSFs, ocassional babes, young guys, 84 km ultramarathoners, both male and female, and couples, hand-in-hand, walking to the finish line. I caught fleeting glimpses of a few of these couples as i ran, couples enjoying the scenery, talking to each other, holding each other’s hand all the way. Very sweet.

and there were some runners who had frens on the sidelines, armed with cameras. when the runner came in close to the finish line, his frens would cheer and hold the camera up to take a shot, while the runner posed for it. haha.

Got home after a couple of hours. slept on the bus ride back. when i woke up, my legs felt worse than ever. i had to limp from the bus stop back home.not a pretty sight. I spent the remainder of Sunday sleeping in the aircon room, slacking around w my guitar, and finally rubbing ointment on my severely damaged kneecaps while watching Camp Rock on HD channel 5.

My first ever marathon. My  first ever long-distance night run. A great experience. Great memories to take home with me. (if only i had a camera!) Great injuries to nurse and heal. I still can’t believe i actually ran the entire 42 km and still lived to tell the tale. =S but here i am, alive and kicking! Not, not entirely true. i can’t kick anything for now. and maybe for the remainder of the week.

But its not just my legs that are totally busted. abrasions on my arms from bua-ing my upper arms against my armpit area when i swung my arms while running. abrasions on my thighs, near the groin area due to friction caused by moving legs, made worse by the fact that my running shorts were soaked entirely in my sweat. Yucks. I even had abrasions on my ass (brought on by wet undergarments. *ahem)! i thought this only happens in route marches! now i know how those 24km recruits feel.

Have learnt a few lessons from this: Stamina isnt the most important thing, its how much impact your legs can absorb, and how powerful your willpower is, to just keep moving forward, to not stop and sit down at every bus stop u see, to chiong up a slope. I also learnt how to take care of my legs. With advice from the joints specialist Dr Li Zhiliang lol.

Well one thing’s for certain: i will not take part in such things anytime soon. well, maybe i’ll go for the next sundown, and hopefully i’ll be able to make better time. =)

Gonna go back to massaging my legs. see ya all.

talking to each other. Very sweet.

Anyone missed me?

It’s been quite a while i must admit, i almost forgot my password to my wordpress account. I’ve given up trying to let my previous post stay as the the top and most recent post so more people would bother reading it and giving comments. Oh well, pretty soon that story will just become another entry on lymonade. I’ve run out of ideas. Kidding. I’m too lazy to actually sit there and brainstorm for my potential bestseller cos 1: I’m not getting paid for it, 2: that’s not my full time job, 3: I’ve got better things to do ie stoning arnd, 4: I’ve got better things to do that doesnt require so much brainpower.

hmm. But so far i’ve figured out one or two things about myself. One: I don’t like to do follow up work. i like to complete an assignment, a task as soon as i can, without putting the matter clean from my head. Take homework for example. I dont like to do ten sums today and stop for one day den complete the other ten sums some other day. i prefer/want to sit there the whole fucking day just to complete the whole damn thing. hmm i guess it has something to do with wanting to feel as if one has achieved/accomplished something. u know, like oh this piece of work has been done!! rather than, erm nope, i still gotta do this tmr, so thats still not a tick against the check box.

So yep i don’t like to follow up. be it homework, housework, or blog entries. i dont like to draft a blog entry and come back another day to finish it up. maybe i will eventually do so cos i am so dying to let pple hear my most esteemed opinions but that seldom happens once the whole thing gets chucked into some unused neuron in some unused part of my brain.

So this story is one of them. I’ve got ideas. sketches. here and there. but i’m too lazt to try and consolidate them all inmto words. sigh. Is everyone like that? does everyone hate to do follow up work? or it is just me?

Hmm okay i figured out one more thing abt myself: I LOVE to write. All sorts of nonsense. Especially fiction. It was only after reading my own standalone chapters littered all over my blog that i’ve begun to realise how much i love to write. i even remembered my childhood ambition. to become an author. of a bestselling fiction book series. haha and that ambition had to be mercilessly crushed by reality, cos let’s face it, local authors dont earn much. i wonder if Low Kay Hwa or Russell Lee earn enough to get by. hmm.

and although i don’t have a degree in literature or english,  that doesnt stop me from pursuing my hobby. but as a part time job. when i retire or when i have nothing to do. how sad. i wish to become a full time author, but alas i might end up becoming a chemical engineer who might have an alias who just might churn out a best seller. Might. iF. maybe.

My favourite genre is fiction. i hate reading about things that are real, or what someone has to say about something. i do not like reading biographies.  I absolutely detest those books on how to get rich or whatever, or how fast food is killing people. or whatever. but i dont mind reading about history, just to discover if anything controversial happened in WWII or whatever.

in the fiction category, my favourite is science fiction. as influenced by my childhood hero, KA Applegate. (Yes, the Animorphs author.) Next is real time fiction, as influenced by Jeffrey Archer (Not a Penny More, not a Penny Less). I picked up a bit of liking mixing religion with fiction from Dan Brown, with his famous Da Vinci Code.

WARNING: LYMONADE’S BOOKWORM-NERD MODE TURN-ON.  THE FOLLOWING SECTION U ARE ABOUT TO READ IS ALL ABOUT HOW HIS FAV AUTHORS HAVE INFLUENCED HIS WRITING. IF U DON’T WANT TO KNOW, READ ONLY AFTER THE SECOND LINE OF ASTERISKS

****************************************************************

The first two authors have had a great influence in the way i write. One: They dont really describe stuff very vividly, unless absolutely necessary(think Andalites and morphing). They dont describe scenery til the last sapling. (I HATE descriptions that dont add value to the story. Redundant shit. waste space. waste paper. waste brainpower trying to figure out what kind of picture he’s trying to paint.) These authors take it that u know the place they are describing, or u can leave it to your own imagination. So there’s usually very little description in whatever stories i write.

Two: Both Applegategate and Archer have very solid book characters. The characters might not be easy to relate to, but you can tell one from another. How? Thru the use of dialogue. Excessive dialogue. But excessive in a good way. The more a character talks, the more you can understand what sort of person that character is, what the author is trying to portray. is the character a ruffian? is he cowardly?is he witty? always sarcastic?  how much morals and ethics are in him? is he a natural leader?

So for my stories, if any, my characters tend to hold conversations alot. and there absolutely isnt any need for me to hold back their language. Whatever character i have, whatever i think he might say, i just write it down. gives the character a human touch. makes him real. and thru their conversations, you can pretty much tell who the different characters are, even if i have a long list of open and close inverted commas with no ” said A.” “replied B.” at the end of each sentence.

Third: thinking to yourself. Applegate’s Animorph books were in first person. So as i read, i see the character’s thoughts and feelings, the sort of moral dilemma they are going through when they make difficult decisions, what are they thinking when presented with a situation. Archer’s books are almost always in third person, limited, and changes perspectives every few paragraphs, pages, chapters. His books are also littered with things that the characters are thinking at the moment, even if they are not significant to the entire story. i feel that this gives the characters an even more human feel, as the reader will see the character’s thought processes and wonder to himself if he will do the same, given the exact identical circumstances?

***************************************************************

Okay i’ve finally manged to get a grip and stop yammering about writing. I guess it’s been too long since i last ranted here. =)

i’m still recovering from a bout of fever and sore throat. funny how i seem to be falling ill more and more often. it kinda scres me. i went to the doc on tuesday with a fever, and the first thing he said to me was ” hey, din u come last month?” and i was like “errr ya.”

guess i have a weak body. if this continues, i might die before 40. Scary thought.

Went to JB on Monday. Hella Cheap Movie tickets man. Malaysia Cathay FTW! 9RM for a monday ticket. 6 RM for wed, which is movie day. 6 RM for shows screened before 11 AM. The popcorn corncer had helluva cheap drinks as well. 3 RM for a medium pepsi! =)

But i must say, it still wasnt worth the 9 RM to suffer “KNOWING.” seriously. The first hour and a half had a spooky apocolyptic feel to the film, which was quite good. But if the director or the producer wanted to give their audiences a surprise, they got it. Cos i definitely was not expecting the ending of the show. I mean, come on, aliens coming to take ADAM and EVEs jr to start a new life elsewhere, give earth a second chance?

There was at least 100 ways to make the ending way way better. But aliens just din cut it. Seriously. when i first saw the guys in suits and bleached hair, i thought they were from some cult responsible for the accidents that were happening. turns out they couldnt speak at all, and were translucent aliens in disguise. Like What the Fark man.

When i saw one of them temporarily blind Nicholas Cage with a ball of light that came from his mouth, i prayed it wasnt what i thought it was

and when i saw the spaceship (with its mind-blowing SFX), i knew that was it.

When i saw the four dudes transform into their alien selves, with brains visible, i just shook my head and sighed.

SIGH.

No doubt the special effects were awesome. end of the world, engulfed in fire. Nice concept. State of the art effects. Way way better compared to the $12 Special Effects budget for NEXT (incidentally, also starring Cage.)

But the awesomeness was somewhat ruined by the sheer retardedness of the plot. Half the time, Cage himself looks like he’s scared. Not of the SIGNS on the piece of paper. Of the abysmal ratings this show is going to get.

yeah watch the first half of the show den the get the hell out of there.

*************************

hope i get well soon. want to go lots of places, do lots of nothing. maybe get started on my story proper and try to pitch the idea to the singapore short stories competition or something.

and justine’s hols are coming to an end. ={

Dear Diablo…

PROLOGUE

The sound of rain fills the evening sky. The setting sun, half-covered by gloomy clouds of a greyish-blue hue, seems to engulf the city in a sad, mournful, orange tinge. A gust of cold wind sweeps through as dusk slowly sets upon the inhabitants of this urban dwelling.

People. Trudging along, weary from a hectic day at work, a game of golf, a lack of caffeine, pass through the streets. Each is headed in his own direction, on his own path. Some move with more purpose than others. Some look forward to an eventful night with friends and family, indulging in some of Man’s favourite sins.

For them, another day has gone by. Some may stop to ponder: was it a day well spent? Was it a day full of meaning? Others are just relieved, even glad, that the ordeal known as the “working day” is now behind them. Another day, a new day, full of new and exciting opportunities, awaits.

Yet, some wander the streets with little motivation, no ambition, zero aspiration, minimal inspiration, and wonder about the meaning of their existence. Some wish that the night will forever remain young, for they dread the coming of a new dawn, a dawn that holds no meaning, no value whatsoever to them. A beer would probably prolong the night. Oh yes. Some alcohol would surely help.

“Hey buddy, u got a light?” i feel a tug at my coat tail and a raspy voice call out, snapping me out of my philosophical reverie. I spin on one heel and turn a full 180 degrees. Standing in front of me, a man in his late 30s, disheveled, shivering in cold, armed with nothing but a cheap substitute for a fur coat to combat this ghastly weather. In his left hand, he carries a bottle of stout. His right hand, previously used to tug at my coat, now holds a cigarette. He has a tired, almost dead look in his eyes. I could have been looking at a walking cadaver.

I pull out my lighter from my chest pocket, a vintage post-WWI collector’s item, made in 1920. The first of its kind. I hand it over to him. He doesn’t thank me and lights up immediately. His hands are shaking visibly, either from the extreme cold or from the effects of alcohol.

He takes a long drag of his cancer stick and returns me my prized lighter. For the first time, he makes eye contact with me.

John Trevor. 36 years old. Has been unemployed for almost 6 months. Fell heavily in debt 2 months ago from obsessive gambling. Used to own an apartment down the street. Landlord chased him out after loan sharks vandalized the entire 4th floor. Presently homeless. His eyes tell me that he is desperate, sad, lonely.

Another one hits rock bottom, i muse to myself.

“Hey John.”

His eyes widen, surprised at the fact that a complete stranger just had called out his name. His eyes scan his cheap coat, his torn working jeans, his worn-out sneakers, wondering if there was a nametag or any form of identification on him that had given his identity away.

After a while, he gives up searching. He looks at me suspiciously, his eyes focused, very much unlike a drunk.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” He asks. I can feel the fear slowly creeping into his trembling voice. The only thing preventing him from running away, screaming in full-blown hysterics was probably the fact that i looked too smartly dressed to be a loan shark.

“Just a friend, John. Just a friend.” The man seems unconvinced, and starts to raise his voice, hoping to intimidate me, to instill some fear in me so as to facilitate his interrogation. However, he fails to realise that him, as the intimidator, is becoming increasingly intimidated. He demands to know my name, but of course i keep my silence.

“I asked you who the hell are you, you son of a *****!” He gestures aggressively at me. People around him start staring, pointing fingers. I can hear their hushed voices whisper “what is that drunk bastard doing? Who does he think he is talking to?”

He hears them too. By now he realises that he is the only one who can see me. He stares at his lighted cigarette to discover that he cannot use the word “lighted” to describe its state now. He turns to run but promptly blacks out. Out of fear? Out of panic? Out of shock? He does not know. Probably a combination of all three.

**************

“John, wake up.”

His reaction is instantaneous, he jolts wide awake, all traces of his drunken stupor suddenly absent. He tries to get up from the ground, but he realises that he cannot move any of his limbs. Or any part of his body, save his eyes and neck.

His eyes frantically dart left right left right as he surveys his surroundings, trying to make sense of it all. Nothing has changed, he is still on the cobbled street in the middle of the city, but no one else is around. The air is still and quiet, but he cannot feel the biting cold of the autumn wind. For now. His eyes find me, sitting very close to him.

“where am i? And you haven’t answered my question god damn it! Who the hell are you?”

“I told you, John. I’m a friend, and friends are here to help.”

“Holy shit! Are you jigsaw?” I register whatever he just said, and promptly burst into shrieking laughter. I cannot believe the utter silliness of his comment. This could take a very long time.

I compose myself and wipe tears from my eyes, even as he keeps shouting “hey stop laughing god damn it!” He tries to move, but realises that he is still being held by invisible binds. I personally would prefer talking to him face to face, instead of literally looking down at him, but i have to prevent him from trying to run away. Obviously he cannot move out of this place at all, but based on experience, trying to sell someone an idea while chasing after him can be quite a tiresome affair.

“Do you believe in God, John?” I ask suddenly. The mood becomes solemn, sombre, even John falls silent, thoughtful even and forgets his quest to know my name.

“What business is it of yours?” He asks, just as suddenly. Anger is written all over his eyes, as though i have just offended him with my question, which was never meant to be offensive in any way.

“You look sad, John. Sad and lost. Lonely. You don’t look like you have a purpose in life. I’ve met many people. Many people, who, like you, once hit the lowest point of their lives.”

He doesn’t say anything, so i presume that he’s letting me continue.

“So many of them, John. Just like you. Just that few inches from the brink. Just so near Despair, just so so close to relinquishing all hope on life. So what does this have to do with God, you may ask. Because these people believe in their God, they still have that fire, that faith in their eyes, however little. This faith is what keeps them from totally giving in to their suicidal tendencies. For them, their faith in their religion keeps them alive.”

“you look like you don’t want to live but don’t want to die either. So which is it, John? Do you believe in God?”

I let him digest my little speech. He pauses to think and then lets out a sigh.

“God may exist. But i do not believe in him. Not anymore. Given up on him a long time ago.”

“Why is that?”

“Because god is NEVER there when you need him. Never. When you’re down on your luck, he never shows up to save you. I know, I know. God isn’t some miracle entity, not some tool to save you. He can’t be there to save everybody. But why does he not even give a sign or even point me in the right direction? I went to church every Sunday, i lived an honest life, did an honest business. I daresay that i was a devout believer. All these, for what? When the chips are down, where is God? Can’t he even give me a hint, some clue and tell me where to go? What was all that faith for? So that he’ll bless you. Do i feel blessed now? No.. Hell no..”

He starts breaking down. Tears start welling up in his eyes, as Pain starts attacking his heart.

In between sobs, he tells me how he was a successful businessman with a beautiful wife, darling children, a huge mansion in the countryside and all. He tells me how he felt that he owed part of his success to God for it was God who gave him the blessings.

He also tells me how he was swindled of his money through investments in a dud oil company and how his family eventually left him for greener pastures, after further investments at the racecourses failed to reap any benefits at all. He tells me how his life fell apart, and how reconstruction wasn’t plausible, even with the aid of nicotine and booze. He tells me how he wished at times, that all was well again, that he would eventually wake up from this nightmare to a sunny morning, complete with breakfast in bed.

He starts sobbing. I permit the use of his hands to wipe his tears off. Tears of sorrow, of regret, of despair. Close to tipping point, i note.

I ask him suddenly, “Do u believe in the Devil then?” His eyes focus again, this time with less apprehension. He turns his head to me and stares straight into my eyes.

“If there is a God, then there is a Devil.” He replies with much conviction.

“Good. Den i have a business proposition for you.” He raises one eyebrow in a classic look of incredulity.

“Business? Who the hell are you, anyway?” Ah crap, not the whole identity issue again, i think, frustrated. Someday, I am going to find myself a believable personna, with less of those ‘unlighted cigarette’ special effects.

“Okay before you interrupt me, let me explain this BUSINESS deal. After I’m done, you can ask me whatever you like. Deal?” He thinks for a while and finally agrees. But obviously, it will not go to that stage.

“here i have a contract.” I pull out an aged-looking piece of parchment from nowhere. He starts to talk, but i cut him short. Later.

“i have a contract. Right here with me.” I do not wait for him to make any comment, and proceed to explain further, keeping count of the number of times i have been repeating this speech. JohnTravor would be number 9116.

“I have a contract here. In it, you will find 66 clauses. Very much like the terms-and-conditions thing u see in everyday business contracts. Pay close attention to clauses 1, 5, 13, 22, 36, 37, 49, 52 and 66. These are the ones that i think will be of greater concern and interest to you. Read the clauses in numerical order, especially the first and the last.

I permit the full use of his entire body. Now that i have gotten his full attention, there wouldn’t be any need to restraint him. I hand him the piece of papyrus. He stares at it intently for a few minutes, occasionally scowling and frowning as his eyes scan through each of the clauses. For a full quarter of an hour, he does not speak, and quietly reads the content of the scroll, very much like an attorney verifying a will.

He looks up at me when he is done with the scrutinizing.

“Any questions?” I ask, aware that there would definitely be this single, eye-brow raising clause. I make a mental note to definitely review the phrasing and choice of words someday.

“Obviously there are questions,” he replies, his voice somewhat dripping with sarcasm, “no self-respecting businessman doesn’t find ‘questionable’ terms and conditions in a contract.” He speaks as if from experience, then i remember his investment in the dud oil company.

He starts reciting a clause out loud:

“This Agreement, along with any exhibits, appendices, addendums, schedules, and amendments hereto, encompasses the entire agreement of the parties, and supersedes all previous understandings and agreements between the Parties, whether oral or written. The parties hereby acknowledge and represent, by imprinting a Mark of Life and on the beneficiary’s part, by contributing a Fract of Being hereto, that said parties have not relied on any representation, assertion, guarantee, warranty, collateral contract or other assurance, except those set out in this Agreement, made by or on behalf of any other party or any other person or entity whatsoever, prior to the execution of this Agreement. The parties hereby waive all rights and remedies, at law or in equity, arising or which may arise as the result of a party’s reliance on such representation, assertion, guarantee, warranty, collateral contract or other assurance, provided that nothing herein contained shall be construed as a restriction or limitation of said party’s right to remedies associated with the gross negligence…”

“…willful misconduct of fraud of any person or party taking place prior to, or contemporaneously with, the execution of this Agreement,” I finish for him, for the 9116th time.

“Isn’t this just an ordinary Entire Agreement clause? Or do you call it Integration Clause or Merger Clause? I think the terminology used varies from nation to nation.”

“Of course i know an agreement clause when i see one. Anyone will. But that’s not the question.”

“What is?”

“Well, firstly it looks like it’s lifted off Wikipedia. No one uses such terminology anymore.”

“From where i come from, there aren’t any lawyers, so perhaps plagiarism is part of the inevitable when trying to sound professional, but that’s not your real question.”

“No it isn’t, it’s just something that bugs me. Anyway, what the hell do you mean by “Mark of Life” and Fract of Being? If i remember correctly, It was something along the lines of “affixing hands and seals hereto.”

“ah that part. Mark of Life simply means blood. Would you not agree that blood gives birth to our very physical existence, that it is a symbol of Life?”

“Don’t get all philosophical on me, Horatio,” he snaps, irritated, “So how do i imprint a Mark of Life? By giving you my blood? Like some damn occult?”

“No. Not ALL your blood. As a sign that you are in complete agreement with the contract, you leave one drop of blood, no more, no less, on the bottom of the scroll.”

“Fair enough. What about Fract of Being?”

“Fract of Being is short for Fraction of Being. That which is a part of our non-physical existence, that gives birth to our being.”

“can you stop the philosophical mumbo-jumbo? What exactly is the Fraction of Being?”

I look at him straight in the eyes and say plainly, “Your Soul. To fully mark the contract valid, the beneficiary, you, must hand over to me, your soul.”

He stares once again, dumbstruck, his mouth gaping wide, looking as though I just told him he was going to die. It is obvious that he has problems defying his faith, his religion. I ponder for a moment the strange emphasis on ‘Soul’ as a very crucial part of one’s existence across the various religions. I recall vaguely a Chinese warlord who preached to me the importance of a soul in Buddhist teachings before flatly refusing to take up my offer.

I watch him struggle with himself. After a while, he swallows hard and starts speaking, very slowly, trying hard not to let fear and shock get to him.

“My Soul? All of it?”

“Yes, all of it. In case you were wondering, your soul is a fraction of your being. Just a very big fraction.”

“and i have to give it Now?”

I chuckle in disbelief. “No, not now. If you read clause 46 again, i think it says “representative to collect contributions upon the contract’s expiry, after it has been declared null and void.” Ambiguous, i admit, but i means that your soul will be claimed only after the contract expires and this contract expires when you die.”

His eyes turn away, as if deep in thought. He doesn’t speak for at least a minute. I do not speak either, and allow him time to consider his decision. After all, this battle of his inner angels and demons is crucial to my task, and i have learnt from experience that any form of interference or interruption to his train of thought is highly unrecommended.

He reads the scroll again, this time paying very close attention to the text, but he does not ask me further questions regarding the contract.

For a second time,he looks up from the scroll at me and asks, “Will i feel anything after i die, spiritually? Will there be pain when my soul is being, erm extracted?”

i laugh at the ludicrous question. With everything that is at stake, he’s only bothered about PAIN?

“No, my friend. It isn’t such a crude process. No ripping-out-your-soul agony. A painless process.” I assure him. However, i can still feel the tension, the uncertainty in his eyes. I wait for him to ask further.

“And after i sign the contract, i can ask for my terms and conditions? My benefits? Anything i want?”

“yes, anything you desire, whether material or intangible. Anything that can be thought of in your mortal world. Use your imagination.”

At this point in time, i can feel the wheels and cogs in his head moving, as he contemplates the possibilities. His eyes light up as his imagination takes him farther and farther away from reality. Greed will forever be the root cause of Man’s downfall, i tell myself.

“i can have anything at all? Anything?” he asks again.

“Anything,” i repeat, “in exchange for a drop of your blood. And your soul.”

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, i do not see fear or uncertainty reflected. Nothing seems out of the ordinary to him anymore.

“I have nothing to lose and all to gain. I accept this agreement,” he declares.

“Good, now as customary protocol, hold out your left hand.” He sticks out his left hand, palm face up. I place my left index finger over his index finger. I simulate a small scratching movement and a small trace of blood appears where the skin on his digit momentarily tears open. He doesn’t wince.

“Now hold it over the scroll,” i instructed. His hand moves to hover over the scroll and one drop of fresh blood falls, seemingly in slow motion, to it. The drop immediately dries and leaves an imprint, as though it was wax-stamped onto the piece of parchment. I roll up the contract and put it back in my coat.

“Now it is complete. Tell me your wishes and they will be fulfilled.”

“i don’t have to swear an oath or anything to declare that my soul is to be exchanged when i die?”

“no, that part’s already covered with the drop of blood. When you die, i will appear before you once again.”

“i see. My desires. Am i allowed time to think about it?”

“you are, within this realm of space. Take as long as you wish, and be as concise as you want.”

“according to clause 43, i am allowed as many wishes as i want before i break contact?”

“that is true. You can ask for anything, any amount, and when you are finally satisfied, Say “I am Satisfied” and i will make the necessary arrangements to break this realm.. You will return the to same place where u first met me. And you will have to make your way to this building at 66 avenue, down South End. It’s called iRECULF industries. Tell the receptionist your full name and your wishes will be fulfilled.”

“Wait wait wait. I have a query” he says. I can feel the slight anxiety in his voice. “Giving up my soul in exchange for benefits. Is this considered ‘Selling my Soul?’”

“why would that be considered selling?” i ask, “the value of your soul cannot be measured in mundane, physical quantities, such as money.” In fact, a person’s soul is practically invaluable. Priceless, i add to myself.

“Think of it as a trade,” I say, and put a fake smile on my face to reassure him.

“Alright. So when i just have to visit this company called iRECULF at 66 Avenue and tell the receptionist my name. And everything will proceed from there till i get my wishes?”

“that is correct. But depending on the nature of your wishes, and considering factors such as feasibility and implementation time, it may take up to a few years before you finally achieve what you asked for. But anything that has the potential to help you on your path will most definitely work in your favour.”

“that’s taking ambiguity a little too far for comfort.”

“Have no doubts, you will see the results soon enough.”

He then proceeds to tell me his wishes. He takes a good 30 minutes listing out all his demands. And finally, he says “Okay, I am satisfied.”

“alright, good. Now at the clap of my hands, this realm shall break.” I see him roll his eyes mockingly.

“Yes, i know, it’s cliché. But i assure you, it’s not a magic trick. Anyway where was I? oh. At the clap of my hands, this realm shall break. From then onwards, the contract shall be deemed, for want of a better term, ‘OPERATIONAL.’ Pleasure doing business with you, John. Have a good life ahead.”

I raise both hands to face-level and proceed to put them together to create a soft smacking sound.

“Wait!”

“yes? Any questions?”

“I know I don’t get any reward or any merit points for this, but i need to confirm something..”

“and that would be?”

“Your identity. Asking me for my soul as part of a contract – you’re the devil, aren’t you?”

I laugh. “No I’m not.”

“Den who the hell are you?”

“Just a friend, John Travor. Just a friend.”

CLAP.

-lifted from the bestselling “Dear Diablo..”
by Lymonade Slim

(lol ok so this is some story i was working on a couple of months ago. but my interest is waning. still drafting the ideas for chapter 1. hopefully i can make a book out of it =P srry for limited vocab/grammar.)

Granda’s 80th and the Wisdom Tooth

wow. haven’t been here in a very long time. guess i shall do some random updating. well, the first thing is that i just came home from a wisdom tooth extraction. not a wisdom tooth op, a use- a-pair-of-pliers-n-pull-hard kind of extraction. ouch. fortunately the local anesthesia administered to my gums worked. wonder how 18th century folks had their teeth extracted. hmm. or maybe dental care was non-existent in that era? shrug.

and i extracted my left upper. i was originally supposed to remove my left lower, which was giving me intense pain about 2 weeks ago. the dentist declared that the surgery required would be immensely costly and time-consuming. plus the fact that the pain suddenly ceased like 5 days ago? so i decided against removing my left lower wisdom tooth. For now lah.

he showed me the X-ray. my wisdom tooth was growing almost perfectly horizontally. it would have been cute, if not for the fact that this tooth would eventually grow outwards and push into my molars, which will cause pressure and all sorts of repercussions. yea. so i have to remove that sooner or later.

and now i am still nursing a numb cheek, numb gums, numb tongue. i cant even speak properly lol.

wow. just realised i have just crapped out 3 paragraphs of words. about my wisdom tooth. i have this amazingly useless ability to write alot about nothing! which impresses me sometimes =P

ok now i shall move on to another topic. ytd was my maternal grandma’s 80th birthday banquet. mini=banquet held at this chinese restaurant. 18 tables of guests. relatives, frens, my dad’s colleagues. well, any event that my dad organises will most definitely have alot of karaoke singing involved. so this was no exception. i actually had to find some decent clothes to wear. cos i’m like THE son of the Legendary SHEN LAO SHI. i dunno why, but my dad’s students seem to revere him. so i guess i have to look good for his sake. not just me, my younger brother too, so jeans and tee shirt were out of the question. damn.

i ended up looking like someone out of a HK mafia flick. No kidding. black buttoned shirt, black dress pants, black leather shoes, black jacket. i only lacked the slack shades and the cigar. damn. very infernal affairs.

and throughout the banquet, i would be whisked off by my mom to some random table to get introduced to some random relatives. and they would all be ” wa so big and tall! so handsome, just like his dad!!” and all that. not that fun after a while. tiring to be interrrupted in the middle of a meal to go greet people u have never met. and i never knew i had so many cousins. distant cousins la, but cousins. female cousins. 5 of them? all younger than me. not very attractive. luckily i din get very warm smiles from any of them. maybe it’s my mafia look.

and i realise that i have relatives! albeit very very distant relatives. most of them are from my mom’s side. most of them are very old. hmm.. and they’re all teochew. and i honestly cant understand perfect teochew, so all i heard from relatives were random, nonsensical jabbering when they talked to my mom about me and stuff.

and everywhere me and my brother walked, there would be a few pairs of eyes following us. if i turned my head fast enough, i would see a few pointing at us, saying “oh these are the ah ma’s grandkids, lao shi’s sons etc.”

most of them havent seen either of us before. cos we mostly dont go to their places for CNY. dont ask me why. it’s been like that since i was young. and my grandma, bless her, likes to show us off. verbally. she would tell her cousins and frens how nice we brothers were, how filial and sensible and obedient and all. so naturally we had this reputation that we were very nice people. so we couldnt go around pointing middle fingers at eaCH other for fun, swear loudly, pick our noses or what. kinda like mini-celebrities. =S

banquet was fun. haha it was a banquet organised for old people, and even i kinda enjoyed it, so i guess the event was a success. kudos to my dad for being able to pull this off. my mom later told me that my grandma’s cousins and sisters were all so jealous and envious that my grandma’s bdea celebration was so grand. haha. bet that made my dad’s day.

my dad sang 2 songs, my mom sang one. his students, 26 of them, sang one or two songs each. so it was quite a noisy affair. imagine trying to eat in peace with cats wailing and shrieking in the distance.

Oh well. the affair finally ended after my dad performed his second song, which was after the cake cutting. big cake. at least worth $250 dollars. lol. enough for 180 people lol.

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fell terribly sick barely a week after 1 ORD-ed. raging fevers that said NO to paracetamol, (imagine that), throat infections that amoxycilin couldnt save (probably viral) muscle aches, fever chills, for a few days. den i had the sense to see another doctor, cos the current medication i was on wasnt working at all. 6 doses of paracetamol and my fever still goes up and up. strange, isnt it?

as of now, my fevers gone, but my throats still bad. the infection isnt that crazy anymore. it the “if-i-swallow-i-will-feel-needles-in-my-throat” kinda of sore throat. not too bad, i just have to wait it out and see what happens next. i have to stay away from Coke til then.

must be all that stupid late night running, plus my sleeping at 2 – 3 am pattern. zzz.

Chinese old Year, among other stuff.

my cny visiting for the year of the ox can be described in one word: no not “pathetic.” I was thinking more “uninteresting.”

Went to 4 places on the 1st day of CNY. Came back before 7 pm. wow. Lets see now: went to my maternal grandma’s in the morning, before my aunt and grandma went on a cruise. it’s been a tradition for them every year ever since my grandfather passed away in 2003. I remember when my family used to spend the entire second half of chu 1 at my grandparents place. my two uncles and their families would also visit. Very rowdy, very crowded, jolly good fun.

Of course that was a very long time ago. It’s sad actually, now that i reminisce about it. Now my grandparent’s abode is quiet, empty, and photographs are all that remain of the good old days. Not to mention that quite a few of my relatives have passed away in recent years =S

So there i was, with a red packet in my pocket, food in my stomach (courtesy of my grandma), a copy of the straits times on the floor, and random thoughts in my head. Wa sounds so poetic sial. =P Nostalgia literally knocked me out. I slept on the cold tiled floor for about an hour before my mom declared that we were leaving. my grandma and my aunt had to catch a 4 pm fastcraft (NS guys wahaahah) to the cruise, which was already somewhere in the ocean, so they had no choice but to chase us away =(

my dad managed to flag a cab without much effort. Surprising how the availability of cabs increases on a public holiday. our next stop was paya lebar, to my bao mu’s place. bao mu as in “protect mother” aka baby sitter. Although my family and hers arent related at all, we will, without fail, pay them a visit every cny. so this year was no different.

As a kid, i used to play with my bao mu’s daughters (2 of them). the younger one was called Linda and the older one called Patsy. Lingling and peipei in chinese i think. =S they’re both about 9 years older than me. =S As a toddler, I was very close to them. i called them “zeh zeh” haha. but over the years, as i gradually grew up, we became increasingly distant. Like there was an age gap, as well as a gender gap. i began to realise that they were adults and i was a teenage boy, and alas, society demands much masculinity from males. Or rather, pseudo-masculinity from immature males wanting to portray the “cool dude image.” =S

So instead of “hello zeh zeh!!! what shall we play today?”
It becomes: ” Uh, hi. how are you? good?” (smile politely)

So i knew that it would be weird to suggest doing anything together (without sounding erm, weird) and i couldnt call them “zeh zeh” anymore. But being good-natured girls, i’m sure they would have humoured me if i asked any of them out for a meal or whatnot. Dun worry dear, you dont have anything to fear. I’m not into may-dec relationships! (or whatever it is =P)

So ya the point being, we’ve grown apart cos i have my own guy hobbies and they have their Andy Lau LOL. I cant discuss basketball or the army with them, cos they have neither interest nor experience in either haha.

So when i was there, there were alot of polite conversations, weird questions and pointed, awkward silences in between. and it wasnt very comfortable. when the conversations started, the sisters took turns asking me general stuff like ” how are you nowadays”,”hows army”, “where u going for higher studies when u ORD?” Then they started asking me about my hobbies, what i usually do in my free time. and when the questions became something like “so do u still watch tv anymore”, i knew they had run out of things to ask. So i had to politely pretend to think about the answers, then explain my answers slowly, instead of saying “er yes. hmm no.”

man, it was quite awkward. and half the time i spoke so fast they had problems understanding what i was saying, but still they smiled and said “oh i see.” instead of “har? can repeat?”

Nonetheless, it was good to see that the siblings were still as close to each other as ever. when i was younger, i would sometimes find one whispering to the other and they would burst out in laughter together. they still do that now. i hope they werent laughing at me or anything.

“oh look, his fly’s down!”
“oh really? bwahahahaahah!”

And my bao mu ang bao generosity was as usual, unparalleled. =) Ironic isnt it. my most un-blood-related person giving me the biggest red packet. =P

Oh well. next i went to visit my paternal grandma and uncle. Only because we had to, only because it was tradition to visit in-laws. I’m sure if given the choice, my mom would have stayed far, far away from that place. We barely stayed for 15 minutes before my dad decided to cook up an excuse for us to leave. (going somewhere else la paiseh!)

In actual fact, we went home. and rested for twenty minutes, before going over to my maternal granduncle’s place. my granduncle’s 70 odd years old and single. he’s a nice guy, but kinda weird. he’s unemployed so lives on porridge and instant noodles. lights in his 2 room flat are dam dim, as though someone forgot to brush off the layer of dust covering the lightbulbs. quite poor thing =(

And we only stayed for 20 minutes. And my granduncle, being old and eccentric, decided to slide his red packet to us from across the dining table, instead of handing it over personally. and he did it was a strange smirk on his face. or was it a grimace. i dont know. As usual, the tinkling of coins told me that there were 6 shiny 1 dollar coins in the red packet. Quite hefty for someone who lives on a $20 per month electricity bill.

Shortly after, i went to ding’s place to play guitar and chill. was there for almost 5 hours. we tried to compose a new song, but got stuck at the chorus. =S and we discovered that song-writing just wasnt in our blood lol. Reached home at 2 plus am.

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i just read through my entry. omg. i sound like i’m half spouting random stuff, half narrating a biography, half daydreaming. Too many halves. =S I think i sound incoherent. must be the army. My brain’s all rusty. Or maybe it’s because i have too much on my mind?

Rightly, i should have alot to think about. with ORD impending, with V day imminent. I wonder whats the first thing i should do to mark my ord. whats the first significant thing i should do to once i get home from the office? wahts that one thing that will truly signal, represent, symbolise the end of my life as a conscript?

hmmm. do i go home and type my ORD reflections into yet another thousand-word paragraphs, doing another cheeyen? should i, for the first time in my life, go clubbing and get pissed drunk? (srry dear, second suggestion was a joke =P) any suggestions?

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I dread V day. honestly. I think dear and i can concur that our V days are fucking jinxed. really. Oh ya dear, if you’re reading this, can you tell me if you remember how we spent V day in 2007? Cos i cant recall! =( my bad i think. But i think it wasnt very memorable..

Man i hate to admit this but i am a very unromantic person. =( must be the army. Screws with your brains here and there. Take my poems for example. I could churn out poems, however lame sounding, at least once a week. Now the last complete poem i constructed was on 17 sep 2007!

(Seriously, if my poem constructing skills were bad to start with, i can say that these skills are now non-existant. Really. i have abysmal rhyming ability now. )

Back to me being an unromantic person, i have to admit that i’m out of ideas as to how how how how i intend to spend V day with her. My impression goes like this “aiya, if u love the girl and she loves you too, everyday also V day sial. No need to celebrate la!” buts thats also the lazy dude’s defence for not celebrating V day, b day, d day, or whatever.

besides, i really want to make this v day special! cos it’s after all, the first v day i will spend with a loved one immediately after i ORD. =) Oh well, guess i have to go rack my brains some more.

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4 working days left =)

Life and Sore Throats.

I suppose if i don’t update my blog until my Taiwan entry is complete, the next time anyone sees a new post will be some time after i ORD. Or rather, to quote Peh, after i join the “league of extra-ORD-inary gentlemen.” =S

And mind you, i still have about 80 photos or so in my SD card. at least half of them will be in my Taipei day 2, 3, and 4 posts. so prepare yourselves for more wall-of-text damage +9999999. =)

Hey i just noticed that wordpress has this “excerpt” function. just below my typing space. For those who wanna keep themselves up to date w my life but don’t care enough to give themselves brain damage by reading the whole chunk? hmm..

ok so i was saying. since my Taipei posts aren’t gonna be up soon, i figure i’d probably have to blog about life. Just so people know i’m alive and that my blog isn’t er, dead. =) So anyway, first things first: i officially ORD this year! Time to do that immediately-prior-to-ORD -reflection on how army has changed my life, how army has molded me into a better/worse person. But ok but that’s for another blog entry. just to keep my audience updated on what’s to come on Lymonade. Er, if i still have one (audience). =(

Come to think of it, the office is now so freakin’ quiet w/o Jun “eh fuck u understand” Xiang’s loud voice, w/o  Tranny Jenny constantly poking fun at Chang da Man, w/o Kendrick and Shirley joining in the fun, w/o Nikky’s active participation in lunchtime conversations and all that. Lunchtime’s now a less fun thing hmm.

Oh well, maybe we’ll meet up again soon. I can almost be 10000% sure that i’ll find Jenny at Zouk on a Wednesday night =P

Hmm ever since i came back from Taiwan, i haven’t been able to eat my fav foods properly, and my fuckin’ sore throat/throat infection takes full credit for this. Sadly. You know, the whole “hard to swallow, painful lumps in the throat” thingy. Very irritating. Could feel my throat going somewhere (to hell to boil probably) two Tuesdays ago, and i tried everything in my power to prevent it from exacerbating.

Yea So it was soupy stuff and porridge for meals (yum) all the way til Sunday in the same week. did duty. Developed a fever overnight while churning out my work. Could hardly stay focused in the morning. I was so surprised that i managed to stumble through MB while reading stuff to people. I remember a paragraph about Viagra and Afghanistan somewhere. hmm.. or maybe it was me being delirious.

Went home to see a doctor. (Don’t really trust MOs you see.) apparently my throat infection caused some serious inflammation, in turn causing me to get a fever. 38 degrees. Doc prescribed meds, i had MC, rested at home throughout Mon and Tues.

Felt so much better on Wed. the antibiotics and the Dorithricin were miracle medicines! =D i felt almost at optimum health on Thursday when i helped clear out my house for CNY (a lil early i knw) So i made the mistake of demanding KFC for dinner.

Sigh. I guess that was the trigger for the relapse. Friday was a catalyst. Took half day off to go sing karaoke with Justine and her uni frens (Waikit, Hui En, Li Hong and Hui Jing). There was this student package for Kbox members (5 hrs singing time, complimentary snacks and deep fried food for 14.50!) and u can guess what happened after that. Glutton Lymonade downed the fries, fried sotong, fritters etc.

And it din help that i ate laksa for dinner. So by the time i went home, my throat was somewhere on the 15th level of hell. =S took all sorts of counter measures to make sure my throat did not get any worse.

Went karaok-ing on Saturday night, for 2 hours. In a sense, the straining of vocal chords, coupled with the late night out (i slept at 4 am) acted as another catalyst. Sunday’s Pepper lunch was a minor catalyst. I felt so unwell by nightfall that i couldn’t eat anything for dinner, save some youtiao and soya bean milk. youtiao was probably the last ingredient needed to drag my throat to the 18th level of hell.

Sigh. Did duty on Monday. Which was a total nightmare. Despite me being dead beat, i couldn’t find a way to fall asleep in the office. So i was wide awake throughout the night, and once i got off duty, i went to see the doc again. He gave me some new medication (which i am currently comsuming) and i reached home, bathed and slept at 1030 hrs. and i slept like a dead dude all the way to 830 pm. LOL. I was so sound asleep, i failed to notice 4 missed calls and 3 smses from Justine asking me out to dinner. Felt terrible for making her worry so when i woke up, i called her immediately. And my voice was hoarse. But much better than it was in the day.

By the next morning, my throat was feeling solid again. So i met Ksoh, Ash and Peh for dinner. At PS. At Carl’s Jr. Wonderful, wonderful deep fried stuff that killed my throat again. And now I’m nursing another sore throat. The phelgm output is really killing me.

Oh ya speaking of PS, Justine was there at the very same place, at a class gathering somewhere in pastamania. So we met up here and there throughout dinner, and the pig was actually hungry after downing 1 serving of pasta! =S so she and jingmin went to Carl’s Jr and ordered some fries. (And after that, she still said she was hungry! )

Ksoh reminded me that it had been two weeks since the few of us met up, the previous outing to the same place (PS) for a late night movie (YESMAN). So  we chatted and chatted and talked all sorts of nonsense. =) Topics of discussion included Ksoh’s new found feminism SNAG traits and his prospects in cheerleading and ballet. Ash talked about a nightmare he had recently about Dwayne Wade. =S Peh’s back injury, his facebook groups, and his dislike for sun-tanners by the pool. =S And before we knew it, it was 11 pm! i could have stayed there til next morning if not for work commitments =(

Sigh. They say time flies when you’re enjoying yourself and i guess that’s certainly true. It’s kinda amazing how 4 people with almost absolutely nothing in common can be really good buddies. According to others, we’re probably the most mis-fit clique there is. And yet, 4 years after sec sch, we can still meet up and hang out and laugh about all sorts of nonsense, from BOYTALK (yes, ash boytalk) to EYE PEE MAN, to BGRs, to ARMY, to everyday life, to simply discussing amusing topics of interest.

We’re kinda like a gossip gang. Er. A very vivid image of “Brats” just came into my head. Ok so maybe we’re the male version of a gossip gang, but still it sounds quite gay. =S So maybe we need a macho name for our clique hmmm.

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My, what a short entry, compared to my usual wall-of-text posts. =) I pray that my sore throat recovers faster. Although i think i’ll sooner die of throat cancer than of old age. =S

Need to exercise soon also. getting rotund.

33 Days to ORD!